


Quiz Night

by Mother_of_Dragons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ...more like subconsciously included them as hcs, F/F, I borrowed some elements from other fics that I though fit moira, I use a lot of italics & some rhetorical questions...sorry, Reader has breasts, also... reader is about to start their period in like the next few days, lowkey some voyeurism?, moira calls you 'pet' twice... but it's in same way that people add 'love' to the end of sentences, moira may be a twinge ooc, reader is afab?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 12:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_Dragons/pseuds/Mother_of_Dragons
Summary: She draws to a standstill at your neck, pressing one final kiss to a particularly prominent pulse point before pulling away, shifting back enough to look you in the face after she assesses you from head to toe, agonisingly slowly.She licks her lips."Say that again, pet"





	1. Quiz Night

Ever the observant type, Moira notices - perhaps even before you do, in earnest - the subtle changes that mark the beginning of your menstrual cycle; sudden bouts of nausea, headaches and, most notably, tender breasts.

The lattermost symptom makes itself most visible in the way you hold yourself, turning away ever so often (when you think she isn’t looking) to adjust the bra which is clearly causing you much discomfort - even in the way you walk, your steps less enthused somehow, more deliberate. 

Oh, but she _ is _ looking… and frequently so, especially when you're leant oh so delectably over the station just across from hers, too absorbed with calibrating a microscope's eyepiece graticule to be aware of her gaze. 

Usually, she detests the instrument in question, a relic you'd insisted on lugging along under the pretence of sentimentality which is certainly more apt for a history museum than the confines of her state of the art lab, but she just can’t bring herself to complain about it today. Not when it was providing her with such a great view.

She’d been staring full-on at your cleavage for - _ at least _ \- three minutes now, too preoccupied with the strain of your bust (made all the more voluptuous by the high levels of oestrogen flooding through your system) against your tight blouse, only slightly visible through the gaps between the buttons - hopefully, that would soon change.

Moira was prone to keeping her quarters warm and, since her lab had essentially become an extension of her living space in the last few days as she toiled to perfect her latest masterpiece, had fallen into a habit of keeping the lab warm too - hence why she had turned the heat up not 10 minutes ago. 

She's all the more glad to have done so when you sit up on your stool with a quiet murmur of "_ God, it's _ hot _ in here" _, more to yourself than her, as you unbutton the collar of your blouse, pausing momentarily before conceding and undoing two more just to be safe, stopping just above the swell of your breasts and, ever so slightly, exposing the top of your bra as the front of your blouse sags (almost as if sighing in relief) open. 

It doesn't seem to be anything particularly special, plain cotton instead of a racy lace ensemble, but - nonetheless - Moira _ feels _ more than sees her own face redden and has to loosen her tie, completely and unabashedly distracted now as she watches you, any and all thoughts of her precious specimens and genome sequencing and _ work _ fleeing from her mind. 

But, all good things must come to an end, and Moira's in the process of willing her eyes away (sensing that you're near done fiddling with the microscope) when you shift uncomfortably in your seat, frowning as your hand snakes up absently to adjust your bra's cup beneath your shirt… inadvertently revealing just the slightest sliver of dark areola, and she has to clench her fist _ hard _ to keep herself under control, her yelp of surprise muffled as her nails dig into her palm almost painfully. 

You look up at that, surprised to see her looking back at you before she sends you a half-polite, half-apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace and turns back to her work.

In reality, she's grasping at straws in her mind, desperately trying to pinpoint when exactly these… feelings (unknowingly, she pulls a face at the thought) for you had begun, not bothering herself with the inquiry of why - it had been _ too long _, she supposed after all. 

Perhaps this infatuation (there really was no getting around this wording) had started when you'd memorised her schedule by heart without having to be asked? Or because of the care you took when handling the specimens… Or even on your very first day when you'd gone off on a spiel about your specialist subject, leaving her in awe at the breadth of your knowledge?

All Moira knew was that she had it, and that she had it bad.


	2. Be Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that day...

"Perhaps I can be of help to you with those"

It's after hours and you're at your usual post-work haunt, in your usual booth quite _ un_usaully, with Moira. It's quiz night, just shy of 8:50 and Moira is… _ tipsy_\-- well, buzzed. 

You flap a hand at her <strike>nonchalantly</strike> _dismissively_ as you stare at the quiz sheet, trying with all your might to conjure up the answer from the depths of your subconscious when she repeats herself (a rare occurrence) and you look up, finally conscious of how her gaze is levelled squarely on your chest. 

"Help with what?" You ask, confused. Had you gotten something on your shirt again? 

The question itself is innocent enough, but she takes it as an attempt to be coy (a result, no doubt, of her presently addled faculties) and places a hand upon your thigh, rubbing slightly against the nylon fabric that coats it for a moment before trailing upwards to rest higher, just beneath the hemline of your skirt. 

Dumbfounded, you blink steadily at her (noticing, for the first time, her flushed cheeks and blown pupils) before you let out a nervous laugh.

_ This couldn't be happening_, right? 

Moira takes your lack of an attempt to pull her hand away as a good sign and shuffles closer until you're almost pressed up against each other in the confined space, taking a whiff of the final dregs of your muted perfume - or was that just your scent? 

"Did you just sniff--?"

She presses her face into your neck before you can finish your question, all lips and teeth and _ tongue _ and, surprised, you let out a gasp so _ loud _ that the pub comes to a standstill for all of one second before it's boisterous aura returns, its patrons too rowdy or drunk to care, much less discern the voice as yours, sheltered as you are in the booth furthest from the bar. 

"You've been teasing me all day - haven't you, pet?" 

Her voice comes out muffled as she continues to nuzzle into your neck but its tone (undercut by her accent, all the more prevalent now) remains astoundingly clear, the implications alone doing things that you would never have anticipated to you. 

If you weren't embarrassed before, you're mortified now as you feel your underwear begin to dampen, aware that it wouldn't be too long before Moira discovered this too, if she wasn't already aware.

You're completely clueless as to what she means, but you nod along regardless, some small - but growing - part of you fearful that this (whatever _ this _ is) would all come to an abrupt end were you not to play along. 

"Yes, Dr. O'Deorain, I'd been hoping that you'd notice" you drawl out, carefully, in what you hope is a sultry tone. 

She draws to a standstill at your neck, pressing one final kiss to a particularly prominent pulse point before pulling away, shifting back enough to look you in the face after she assesses you from head to toe, agonisingly slowly.

She licks her lips.

"Say that again, pet" 

More than willingly, you oblige, even going as far as to worry your bottom lip between your teeth for her viewing pleasure.

It does the trick and her eyes lock unto your plump lips, shining ever so slightly from the glaze you'd given them just moments prior. 

Shutting her eyes for a moment, she rubs her thighs together ever so slightly, the sight only serving to make you hotter under the collar, before she presses forward, eyes still closed. 

You meet her halfway. 

A creature of habit, her kisses follow the same pattern as the ministrations from before - first slow and controlled and then open mouthed and all-consuming. You're shocked by the sheer power behind the kisses, surprised to find that she's so _ needy _as her tongue slips into your mouth but, you soon recover and reciprocate her energy, your content sigh swallowed up by the kiss. 

Honestly, you had never seen this coming. <strike>Dr. O'Dorein</strike> no, _ Moira _ had always seemed so unattainable to you - in all senses of the word, up so high on her pedestal of academic excellence (she was certainly the best in her field) and surrounded by that frosty exterior of hers. Before today, you hadn't expected her to even look twice at you, let alone kiss you. 

At the thought, tendrils of doubt begin to creep into your mind.

Maybe she _ was _ drunk after all and you're just the nearest available warm body. 

You pull away from a particularly _ filthy _ kiss and Moira takes this as her cue to return to your neck, laving at the dip in your clavicle with her tongue for a moment before she dips lower (the brief vibration you feel alerting you to the fact that she must have said something, although it's lost amongst the background noise) to the valley of your breasts, but you wince at the contact - shrinking into yourself out of a mix of apprehension and discomfort since it _ hurts _. 

"I apologise, I must have taken leave of my senses - but I can help" she coos, seemingly sobering up as she absently fiddles with the strap of your bra. You consider it for a moment, suddenly aware that your breasts are tender almost to the point of pain yet are aching to be touched and that, as hidden away as the booth may be, you're still in a quite public and quite rowdy place - even if it is quiz night. 

You're still in the midst of considering when Moira's hand snakes beneath your bra and softly cups a breast, thumbing over the nipple gently until it’s pert between her fingers and eliciting a moan that sounds heavenly to her ears.

The thought that you’re crossing into dangerous territory cross your mind; a hand on your thigh was one thing, kissing another, but full-on _ groping _? You weren’t so sure that you’d be able to look her in the eyes at work after this.

Whilst your busy overthinking things, Moira takes your nipple into her mouth, putting her tongue to good use as the hand under your skirt strokes your thigh in calming, nonsense motions.

Her teeth graze your sensitive nub and you can’t resist carding your hands through her short locks, satisfied with the entirely wanton groan it elicits as you pull her up for a steamy kiss and free your other breast, reveling in the delightful friction caused by the rubbing of your nipples against her starched work shirt as your chests press together, not altogether surprised at her lack of bra. The movement is only interrupted when a cheer ripples through the crowd, stunning you both momentarily out of your shared reverie, sure that you’d been caught, before you realise that the omnic team that this particular pub supports had just scored a goal in the televised league.

The tension breaks between you, and you can't help but laugh, noting Moira's own grin, glinting canines of full display.

Her eyes soon lock back on your tits, bouncing heartily (_obscenely_) now that they're free from their previous constraints. With a low whistle, she takes a moment to admire them in all their glory, gaze hooded as she licks her lips, hungry for another taste after having waited for so long. 

The sight makes you all the more wet and you slip a hand down your underwear, running a finger experimentally over your folds.

Admittedly - it's been a while, what with you having being so caught up with work. You almost fear that you've forgotten how to pleasure yourself but, trying not to overthink it, you push that thought to the back of your mind, letting instinct alone lead you as you focus instead on what feels right. 

Your movements are clumsier than you'd like and you're wetter than you expect, so much so that a simple swipe against your clit almost has you cumming right there and then, but you take a deep breath and start again, slowly - after all, you want to make this last for as long as possible. 

Moira considers pulling your hand away, wanting to be the sole cause of your pleasure, but she notes her nail length and reconsiders - obliging you just this once. Instead, she refocuses on your chest and trails said fingertips around your areola in feather light touches that make you moan as you finger yourself simultaneously, slowly getting back into the groove of things, and (to Moira's credit) none too quietly. 

After what feels like an age, she finally takes your nipple in between her fingers and _ twists _, just on the right side of painful, and it does the trick, sending you right over the edge in a burst of white hot pleasure as you clench around your fingers and bring yourself to orgasm, moan swallowed up by a particularly loud cheer that rings through the pub. 

Moira presses a gentle kiss to the slope of your neck and then sits back to soak you in, a Goddess amongst men, sheened lightly as you are in a layer of sweat from your afterglow.

_"You're gorgeous"_

She can't help herself, despite the embarrassment she knows that the complement will cause you. 

Bashfully, you look away.

But it only lasts for a second before you turn to face her again, pulling her close by her tie - a deep plum today - to whisper seductively in her ear, sending shivers down Moira's spine. 

Moira's blushing profusely when you pull away and you smile at the effect you're had on her with just some simple words as you lift your fingers, still slick with arousal.

Hungrily, she takes them into her mouth with no hesitation and your smile grows as you begin unbuttoning her shirt with your free hand, quiz night be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!
> 
> I feel like the ending was kind of rushed, but this is the first time in a while  
that I've felt somewhat pleased with something I've written so... I'll relish  
in it for now.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments :)


End file.
